


And Death Upon Sweet Lips

by TrashyTime



Series: Kinkmeme Prompt Fills [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Could become a larger verse, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, M/M, No Beta : We die like Witchers, Snippets, Worldbuilding, if you think about it too much it will hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23299801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyTime/pseuds/TrashyTime
Summary: Prompt: So for those who don't play, in Dungeons and Dragons a bard can give other characters buffs by performing.I really REALLY need Jaskier buffing Geralt in battle by aggressively playing "Toss a coin to your witcher."--As happens sometimes, the muse took this starting off point and ripped open worldbuilding and angst. Thankfully I managed to keep it short for once.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Kinkmeme Prompt Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1675612
Comments: 3
Kudos: 187





	And Death Upon Sweet Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: https://witcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/429.html?thread=241325#cmt241325
> 
> Still not sure if the OP likes this. What is betaing. Yes yes, more fills no one really wanted quite the way my brain crabwalks into them. 
> 
> Sorry?
> 
> Enjoy the glimpses into Geralt's great denial and struggle.

The first time Geralt feels the magic take hold, he nearly drops his blade.

His hands move that fraction faster, his gaze is keener, even his mind feels that slightest hair sharper.

It swells in the air, untrained and soft for all it permeates every fiber of his being as Jaskier plays his heart out for the first of many times.

By the end of the day, exhausted and focusing on other things, the strange magic is pushed aside as just a trick of his mind.

There is no way. The School of the Songbird was all but myth known only to Witchers by now. Smashed and sacked for their dangerous power long before the rise of the Wolf School, let alone it's own fall.

The music is just, part of having Jaskier near him. The bard plays when stressed. He plays when in danger. He sings as Geralt fights, and it only helps because he is a fool and it gives him something to fight for.

There is no magic except the magic of his heart rebelling against his mind.

They travel, and that aching in his heart only grows. It is why as the years pass, the music seems to have more and more effect. That is the only reason. 

Otherwise...

Cintra, and that disastrous night happen. The ancient power, streaming out of 15 year old Pavetta, had rattled him.

It made him feel, it made him question.

It made him afraid. Not just of destiny but of the things he dare not name.

So Geralt ran. He could lie to himself about only so many things at once.

He ran to contracts as far from Cintra as he could. As far from a bard who sang Barons to their doom and banished Princes into kingships. From a bard who had, in less than a decade, taken Witchers from little better than the monsters they hunted... and made them all folk heroes.

Made Geralt the slayer of nightmares in more minds than the Butcher he had once been seen as universally.

He ran from what should not and could not be.

The School of the Songbird was smashed, for it's power was far too great. Not a single child spared. Not a drop of the blood not hunted out of existence and the reason that all other schools had the Trial of Grasses.

The blood was too potent.

And if Pavetta could have that ancient power after being recessive for so many generations... it had to not be true. Anything else.

When he met up with Jaskier, when there was blood coming from those lips, when he was so desperately searching to save his life... Geralt had to face that even if it were true... his buttercup was also his lark.

And a world where he was silenced, ached in his heart in ways that even the agony of his absence had not.

It made the feel of "oh Valley of plenty" slipping into his bones and weaving through the air, bring tears to his eyes. Even as he moves with nearly twice the speed and ease of just seconds before.

Jaskier's eyes are focused only on him, as he sings his heart out with as much fervor but the skill of a mature mastery to back it, his lute nearly glowing under the potion's effects on Geralt's vision.

He can see his bard's words change the very world, can see the ripple of the true Songbird Bard, of the world around him, as Geralt finishes the last ghoul.

He can't help the tears. Yet despite them, when he comes to Jaskier, he drops his sword. He leaves behind his armor. And he kisses those lips as if he could drown them both in silence.

Geralt has always chosen the Path. He has always followed his training.

His training says that no Songbird may be left alive to their craft... and he will die before he lets any steal the sweet notes from these lips.

So he chooses, and he stops running. Instead, hands tangled in hair and sharing panted breaths, he walks away from everything he was raised to be.

Because he prefers being this lark's dog, over ever howling again as a lone wolf.


End file.
